And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now
by AngelBornOfHell
Summary: He would steal a thousand wishes if she wanted it. He'd give her his own head on a bloody platter if she commanded it. He'd give her all of him, if only she'd have him, and he'd never let her go.
1. From hate to love to lust to truth

Will had never formed a clear opinion on shopping until now. Now he was definitely sure that he hated shopping with an undying passion. Actually, he wasn't too sure what he hated more: shopping, or himself for coming up with the bloody_ brilliant_ idea to take Alice shopping for new clothes, considering how she came to Storybrooke with only one outfit. He was fully prepared to explain the many modern marvels that they were sure to run into, but was bloody well not prepared for the soul-crushing reality that Alice took to shopping like a fish took to water. While a very special and unique girl in many ways, Alice was apparently just like every other teenage girl when it came to shopping, and oh, how Will regretted failing to account for that.

Well, not_ really_. He didn't regret watching her gasp as they entered the mall, wide-eyed and dumbstruck at the sheer _size_ of the place, all the lights and smells and colors. He didn't regret watching her running her hands in the fabrics, unfamiliar textures slipping between her fingers. He didn't regret watching her face glow with delight over the bold patterns, the metallic cloth and neon stripes and technicolor prints. He didn't regret watching her laugh as she tried on her first pair of sunglasses, her first tank top, her first stilettos, her first short shorts (and _damn_ if those didn't make her legs look fine as hell). He didn't regret watching her devour half the bloody food court, intent on trying every single bloody dish, even when the spicy grilled chicken left her teary-eyed and gasping for water after a few bites and he had to try bloody hard to not laugh at her distress. No, he doesn't really regret this at all.

He could do without the bloody bags, though. Despite being a strong, independent young woman, Alice, for some reason, saw fit to make him carry all the shopping bags. All. The bloody. Shopping bags. Will was quite certain that he was carrying an entire wardrobe on his shoulders. He wasn't aware that a girl could buy so many clothes all at once, or that a girl _needed_ so many bloody clothes. But here he is, carrying a good eight bags on each arm, and Alice _still_ isn't done. No, she's off fairly_ prowling_ through the bloody mall, dragging him along by the hand, stopping to marvel at every bloody window display.

He hated shopping. He bloody _hated_ shopping.

He's contemplating various ways to either escape or somehow convince Alice to go home for the day when her voice frantically calling his name cuts through his fantasizing.

"Will! Will!"

"...what is it now, love?"

Alice points excitedly at a small box the size of a phone booth placed against the wall.

"What's that?"

"That's a photobooth."

Alice lets out a downright-unnerving squeal of excitement and marches towards it with a stubborn determination, as though the key to her eternal happiness lay in that bloody photobooth, all the while pulling Will firmly in tow behind her. He manages to set down the bags around his feet as Alice drags him in and yanks him down to sit next to her. She turns to Will, her facial expression eerily reminiscent of a young child on an extreme sugar high.

"Now what do we do?" she asks, practically bouncing in her seat, grinning widely.

_"You didn't know what to do in a photobooth and you_ still_ tried to bloody kill me hauling me in here_?" Will explodes disbelievingly. This girl is going to be the bloody death of him, he swears. Alice shoots him a glare that clearly means she has no time for his nonsense. He can practically see her arms cross and hear her foot tap impatiently and sighs. "You put money in here and then you look at the camera up there and then it takes photos of you." Alice claps her hands in delight and then turns to look at him expectantly. He stares back at her for a moment, entirely nonplussed, before she starts to break into a pout and he sighs again and pulls out his wallet for the umpteenth time that day. Bloody girl with her bloody puppy eyes. He inserts a five into the machine and smiles a little as Alice points to the screen that lights up in front of them.

"That's me!" she exclaims.

"That_ is_ you. Now look into the camera before it -"

But it's too late, and it snaps a photo while Alice is still marvelling over the screen. She jumps a little at the flash and her head snaps up.

"What was that."

"The camera took a photo of you."

"But I wasn't looking at it!"

"Well, look at it now, then."

And she does, and the camera snaps another photo. This time, she's smiling widely while Will wears a faux-grimace in the background.

They take four more photos, each one sillier than the last. They pull faces in the camera, throwing up peace signs and making ridiculous faces. At the last photo, Alice turns to the side, and Will has the sudden urge to bite her hair just for the hell of it, and he does, taking a small mouthful of her hair and pulling it back. Alice either doesn't notice or doesn't care, since she does nothing to stop him or reprimand him after.

When the photos print out a few minutes later, Alice clutches to them like they were all she owned, unable to stop going on a bloody mile a minute about how amazing it is to have their photographs printed out so quickly and clearly, on such strange paper.

* * *

When they finally get home, eight bloody hours, twenty bloody shopping bags, and one bloody emptied-out bank account later, they finally get home. Will drops the shopping bags right inside the door and collapses on the couch, completely worn out. He swears to himself that he's never doing this again, that Alice can take Belle and Ruby if she wants to go bloody shopping ever again. Not that she'd be able to do any shopping any bloody time soon, seeing as to how she'd almost completely drained him of any bloody money had. Bloody girl with her bloody puppy eyes and bloody pout. Bloody hell.

Will's about to drift off when he feels Alice settle down beside him on the couch, curling into his side, and he throws an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. She tucks her head under his chin and somehow manages to snuggle up even closer against him.

"Thank you for taking me shopping, Will," she murmurs quietly, and any resentment Will may have felt at her vanishes entirely into smoke and dust.

"Weren't a problem, love," he replies, and kisses the top of her head, breathing in the smell of flowers and sunshine in her hair. Alice turns her head up to smile at him, and his heart bloody skips a beat at the sight of his Alice that happy. Hell, he'd do this whole bloody shopping thing every week if it made her smile at him like that every time.

"It's not just the shopping. It's the..." - she pauses, struggling to find the words - "...the everything." She gestures vaguely at the air. "Saving me from Bethlem, helping me find Cyrus, bringing me to Storybrooke, giving me a home, and new friends, and...everything." Alice looks up at him again, and it's all he can do to not to drown her blue, blue eyes and kiss her senseless.

"But, mostly, thank you for never giving up on me."

She flings her arms around him and buries her face into his chest and he can feel her mumbling through his shirt.

"I love you, Will. I really, honestly love you."

And he does kiss her senseless right then and there. He leans down and takes her chin into his hand and kisses the bloody daylights out of her, swallows the tiny hitches of her breath and the little moans of pleasure, relishes in the soft slide of her lips against his, melts into her hands as they wrap around his torso, fingers clenching his leather jacket. He feels no small amount of pride well up in him as she shudders and tenses and relaxes in his arms, pressed flush against him.

When they finally break for air, he stares at her flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips and dangerously bright eyes and sinfully tousled hair, and kisses her again, trails kisses up her neck as she gasps his name.

"Will..."

"I love you," he murmurs into the crook between her neck and shoulder, brushing his lips over her fluttering pulse.

"Will..."

"I love you," he ghosts across her jawbone, "I love you," he dusts over the delicate shell of her ear, "I love you," he whispers against her lips. "I bloody love you, Alice."


	2. You're so cute when you slur your speech

Being locked in a nuthouse for the better part of one's adolescence did things to a person, Will decided. Things like having the urge to participate in a bloody drinking competition despite never having consumed any significant amount of alcohol. Because _of course_ Alice decided that she had the innate ability to consume more alcohol than grizzled men twice her weight and three times her size. _Of course_ she did. Why did she always have to be so bloody stubborn?

Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, Alice managed to drink everyone else under the table, downing twenty five bloody shots of vodka before almost falling flat on her face, completely wasted. Will had, out of loyalty, placed a sizeable bet on Alice's victory and subsequently reaped the benefits of said loyalty while at the same time supporting Alice upright, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist as the other arm reached out to collect his winnings and shove the cash into his pockets. Alice was functionally useless by that point, simply draping herself onto Will's shoulder and giggling hysterically at absolutely nothing. Will managed to get his money without too much incident, since everyone was simply too stunned that such a willowy-looking thing like Alice could win a drinking contest against Doc, and besides, Storybrooke people were just _nice_ and _honorable_ that way.

Which led to his current predicament.

The two of them meander through the darkened streets back home, Will struggling to half-walk, half-drag Alice back home.

"Will! Wiii-iilllll!" Alice sing-songs.

"...yes, love?"

"I've...I've just -hiccup- figured ssssomething out."

"And what would that be?"

"Ruby...got her name..." Alice nearly slumps off Will's shoulder before he hauls her back up. "Got her name because...because..." She trails off, eyebrows furrowed together like she's trying to solve a difficult calculus problem.

"Because...?" Will prompts.

"Because she's Red Riding Hood!" Alice blurts out all out once, clearly proud of her discovery. "And red...ruby..." At this point, she dissolves into a fresh wave of giggling, as though it we're unbelievably hilarious that rubies were red. Will sighs and would've facepalmed if he weren't busy preventing Alice from introducing her face to the asphalt.

"That's very nice, Alice."

"And Will!"

"Yes?"

"Shtorybrooke...got its name...because it's like -" Alice trips over her feet and and dangles precariously off Will's arm before he manages to pull her back up again "- it's like...everyone here...is from a fairytale...like...a ssssstorybook." Again, Alice looks inordinately proud of herself, although Will isn't quite sure if the goofy grin plastered across her face is more from misplaced pride or simple, overwhelming inebriation. He would roll his eyes in exasperation, only Alice's bloody _beaming _at him, and her eyes are sparkling with unbridled glee, and her cheeks are stained pink with the flush of alcohol and he can only feel an overwhelming rush of fondness.

"An excellent observation, love," he offers instead, managing to not sound _too _sarcastic, although he really doubts that she'd notice either way, considering how bloody far gone she is.

Will's arm remains firmly wrapped Alice's waist (and he tries bloody hard to not think about how slender her waist is, or how warm it feels through the cloth of her dress, or how soft and creamy-white the skin under the dress is, and how it feels under his fingertips as he - _no_, he reminds himself firmly, _now is not the time for this_) as he holds her arm across his shoulders, all while Alice is singing some bloody Disney tune that she learned recently. Something about small worlds. Bloody hell. She really had to spend less time with Mary Margaret and the various children of Storybrooke.

* * *

Suddenly, Alice pulls sharply against Will and half-drags him over to Mr. Gold's shop on the opposite side of the street.

"Oi, Alice!"

Alice says nothing in reply (Will wasn't so sure why he expected a reply), and simply continues her dash towards the shop display, where she presses her face against the glass and fawns over _something _in the window.

"Will, look!" She points to said something and turns to Will, _still _bloody beaming.

Will once again suppresses the urge to sigh and slump his shoulders and roll his eyes (he wants a bloody award for this, he really does, he should ask Emma if they gave awards for good citizenship in the face of inebriated significant others), and reluctantly looks in the window.

Oh.

There, on a mannequin nestled in swathes of white gauze, is a dress straight out of storybooks. It's a rich, pinstriped dusty navy, with a center panel of cream laced calico. A row of four pearl buttons runs down the center, with a satin champagne bow in the center of the collar and two crossed straps across the scooped neckline and ruffles on the shoulder straps, running down the sides of the bodice. The skirts a wide, flary thing, something that looks like it's held up by several layers of starched petticoats. It's something Alice would've worn in Wonderland.

"It's so pretty..." Alice coos, fingertips pressed against the glass. Will almost dies of horror.

"_Alice!_" He hisses frantically. "_Get your fingers off Mr. Gold's windows!_"

But Alice clearly doesn't hear him (she's definitely ignoring him) and _presses her bloody nose to the glass_. Will nearly faints.

But fainting would be unmanly.

Instead, he wraps both arms around Alice's waist and bodily wrenches her away from the window.

"_Nooooooooo..._" Alice wails plaintively, her arms flailing out and reaching for the rapidly-departing window. "_Willllll...the dress...I want the dress...don't leeeeaaave meeeeeeee..._"

Will is about to retort that he's not leaving her bloody anywhere before he realizes that she's talking to the bloody dress.

"Come _on_, Alice. It's time to go home now."

"But I _want _the _dress_!" Alice whines, throwing her weight against Will's grasp. Will digs in his heels and eventually gives up, deciding to simply throw Alice over his shoulder, recover from an ear-splitting screech of shock and protest, and march on, trying his bloody best to ignore the fact that Alice is raining blows down on his back with surprisingly-strong hands and trying to break all his ribs with her feet.

"Put me _down!_" Alice fairly howls in indignation. Will winces at a particularly forceful kick and pins her legs in place with his other arm.

"Sorry, love, but you're drunk out of your bloody mind and we need to go home."

"But the _dre-essssss_..." Alice mourns.

"Can't get that, love. It's too bloody expensive."

"So steal it!"

Will snorts at the revelation that Alice's strict moral code apparently flies out the window while under the influence.

"I'm not stealing from Mr. Gold. It's not worth the trouble."

Exhaustion overtakes Alice at this point, and her flailing gradually fades to a halt, instead slumping passively over Will's shoulder like an obscenely-heavy rag doll. Will is about to mentally celebrate his newfound good fortune when Alice decides that now is the opportune moment to rid her body of unwanted toxins.

"_Will_..." She croaks.

"What now?"

"I don't...I don't feel so-"

_Oh bloody fuck. _

Will scrambles to remove Alice from his shoulder, but it's too late. With a gut-wrenching heave, Alice vomits up twenty five shots' worth of vodka and various bar foods onto Will's beloved leather jacket.

He really wants that good-citizenship-in-the-face-of-inebriated-signifi cant-others medal now.

Will pulls Alice down from his shoulder anyways, and he shudders at the feeling of sick running off his jacket and dripping onto his jeans, and the acrid stench of it isn't helping at all. But he dutifully holds her hair back as Alice finishes emptying her stomach off the curb of the sidewalk.

"Just...let it all out, love," Will murmurs in what he hopes is a soothing voice as he rubs small circles between her shoulderblades. "Let it all out." Alice shudders with a final heave and moans as she slowly unbends, collapsing against Will's chest.

"_Will_..." she whimpers miserably, and Will presses a sympathetic kiss to the top of her head.

"We're almost home, love. Here." He picks her up in his arms bridal-style, and Alice makes no move to protest, only snuggles her face into his chest and drifts off into a drunken stupor.

* * *

"Wake up, Alice. We're home."

Alice opens her eyes groggily and blinks several times, trying to orient herself.

"...home...?"

"That's right, love. And I'll need to put you down so I can open the door, alright?"

Alice nods silently.

"There we go." Will sets her down gingerly, keeping one arm around her and opening the door. "Let's get some water for you now."

The two of them trip over to the kitchen, Will trying to navigate his way in the dark while guiding a stumbling Alice. He pulls a glass from the cupboard and holds it under the open faucet as water gushes into it.

"Here you are, love. Just rinse your mouth out now. Don't swallow."

Alice docilely does as she's told, all the fight vomited out of her. Will slowly pours the water into Alice's mouth, and she swishes it around.

"Good girl. Now spit it out."

Alice spits the vomit-laced water into the sink.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm..."

"That's good, then. Let's go to bed now."

Alice nods again, already half-asleep on her feet. Will picks her up and carries her to bed, laying her down and removing her jacket and boots.

"Will," she mumbles.

"Yeah?"

"You're...the best..."

Will kisses her forehead.

"Goodnight, Alice. I love you."

"Love you...too..."

And she's out cold.

It's worth it, he thinks, the vomited-on leather jacket and vomit-stained jeans and general exhaustion. Being called the best by Alice. It's all worth it.


	3. That old blue dress, she stole my breath

Rumplestiltskin looks up from his ledgers as the bell over the door jingles. His greeting, however, dies in his throat when he sees just who it is walking into his shop.

"Ah, the Knave of Hearts," he drawls. "What brings you into my shop?"

"Umm...errr..."

"Come to return something you stole?"

At this, the young man's brows furrow indignantly.

"Hey! I ain't never stolen anything from you!"

"Oh, is that so?" He knows the Knave of Hearts hasn't taken anything from him before, he doubts the young man would still be walking freely if he had. Or be walking at all. But it's quite amusing to watch the young man fluster about.

"Yeah!"

"If you insist. Now, what did you come here for? Surely it wasn't just to proclaim your innocence."

"Yeah, about that, er...well, you see, Mr. Gold-Rumplestiltskin-sir, I came to apologize and all."

Rumplestiltskin arches an eyebrow.

"For what? You said you didn't steal anything, and I am inclined to believe you on that count."

"No, not for stealing, it's just..." the Knave inhales deeply, as if struggling on the verge of telling him his darkest secret.

"Well? Spit it out, boy, I don't have all day."

When calling the Knave "boy" fails to draw so much as a glare from him, Rumplestiltskin begins to feel an edge of apprehension crawl up his spine. Was the Alice girl in some sort of danger? He'd grown fond of the girl, a fondness not unlike that one might feel for a long-estranged niece.

"Alicegotdrunklastnightandpressedherfingersandnose totheglasseventhoughItoldhernottoandI'mreallysorry pleasedon'tturnusintofrogsI'llcleanitupIpromise," the Knave blurts out breathlessly. A silence grows to fill the distance between them, yawning like a ravine in space and suspending time. Well, at least he now knows how those prints got onto the glass and who they belonged to. "Oh. And she really wanted the dress in the window," he adds sheepishly, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket and shoulders shrugged up to his ears.

Rumplestiltskin is quite tempted to assure the young man that he will not, in fact, be transfigured into a frog (that's more Regina's style, anyways), especially since the Knave looks so abjectly miserable, looks so much like Bae did as a child when he was caught stealing sweet biscuits before supper. But it's simply so much more fun to keep the boy on tenterhooks a while longer.

"The window is easily fixed, I suppose, so no worries on that count." The boy's shoulders visibly relax and he comes so close to letting out a sigh of relief. "But that dress..." The boy tenses up again and makes a valiant attempt to shrink into the collar of his jacket. "How badly do you want it?"

"Well, um...uh...the thing is..." The Knave inhales sharply through his nose and pulls himself upright, squaring his shoulders and looking straight into Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "Alice really wants that bloody dress, and I ain't got a bloody idea why, but she does want it, so I'm going to get it for her, no matter what it takes."

Rumplestiltskin secretly praises the boy for this most impressive display of courage.

"And how do you propose compensating me for this dress? Surely you wouldn't come here asking for something from me without being able to pay."

"I've got money." The boy pulls out an envelope of what Rumplestiltskin assumes is cash and hands it over. "And if that don't cover it, I can work."

Rumplestiltskin takes the envelope and opens it, scanning over the wad of bills inside.

"That's a pretty bit of cash right there." He looks up at the boy, hiding his suspicion. "Where'd you get it?"

"That's none of your business," the boy declares. "Sir," he adds hastily.

Rumplestiltskin narrows his eyes and the boy pales a little.

"I got it from betting on Alice winning the drinking competition, down at the pub."

"You expect me to believe that Alice, wee little Alice, won a drinking competition against the dwarves?"

"I'm bein' honest, sir!"

Rumplestiltskin knows, of course. He's been hearing tales of fey Alice Liddell downing twenty-eight shots of vodka, drinking the dwarves under the table. He simply had no idea that the boy made so much money from the incident. He casts a contemplative once-over at the boy and looks back and forth between him and the cash.

"Boy, do you know how much that dress is worth?"

"...a whole bloody lot?"

Rumplestiltskin lets out a bark of laughter.

"That dress is fairy-made, boy. Fairy-made and fairy-blessed."

He takes a deep satisfaction in watching the youthful bravado drain out of the boy's face.

"Bloody hell...what's it doing here, then? And how come it ain't ever been in your window before?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

The boy scowls and scuffs the tip of his boot against the floor.

"How is it blessed, then? Or is that 'none of my bloody business' either?"

Rumplestiltskin frowns. He had forgotten how mouthy boys like the Knave could be. Although he wasn't sure how he could've, given the amount of time he spent with Hook.

"Watch your tone, boy."

"Would you stop bloody calling me that?!"

Rumplestiltskin slams the end of his walking stick into the ground with a resounding thud and the boy jumps. He stalks towards the Knave, who backs up against a wall and holds his hands up, palms out, in a conciliatory manner.

"Listen very carefully to me, boy," Rumplestiltskin snarls under his breath. "You do not get to tell me how to speak, not in my own shop. You come barging in here demanding a dress that you clearly cannot afford and could never afford short of selling your soul, then you have the nerve to talk back to me like an overgrown adolescent. Which you are. So I suggest you leave this shop right now before I lose my temper in a most spectacular fashion."

Rumplestiltskin can see the boy waver, his eyes darting to the door and back and to the door and back again.

"No."

Rumplestiltskin rears back in feigned surprise.

"What did you say, boy?"

"I'm not bloody leaving. I came for that dress, and I'm not leaving until I get the bloody dress. 'Specially if it's really blessed like you say it is."

"And why is that?" Rumplestiltskin asks, intrigued.

"Because Alice deserves all the happiness in her life. Her whole bloody life has been hell, and she could do with a fairy's blessing." The Knave says this with nary a waver in his voice, back ramrod-straight and eyes burning with a quiet determination.

"Be that as it may, there's still the matter of...compensation." Rumplestiltskin grins victoriously and the Knave scowls back.

"I told you, all that money there's yours."

"And I told you, it's not nearly enough, boy."

"I'll work for you," the Knave offers, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "For free. I'll wash the windows til the day I die, I'll run errands, any errand, I'll -"

Rumplestiltskin holds up a hand to cut him off.

"Tell me, boy. How much does the Alice girl mean to you."

The Knave stares at him, eyebrows furrowed and jaw working slightly as he debates whether or not to speak. He turns to look at the dress, then down at his boots, then up at the ceiling, and inhales sharply, relenting.

"Bloody hell..." He shakes his head slowly. "She's all I've got. She's the only reason why I've got anything at all, really, the reason why I've even got anything to give, and I'll never stop owing her for that. She's the best thing that ever happened to me, and I..." The Knave stops and swallows, staring back down at his boots.

"Yes?" Rumplestiltskin prompts, vaguely proud of how the whole thing is progressing.

"I love her," the Knave declares resolutely. "I love her more than anything. So I've got to get her that bloody dress, because she's been bloody unhappy all her life, and now that she's finally happy, I don't want anyone taking that away from her, not even me. I'll try bloody hard to keep her happy for the rest of her life, but if I can't do that for some reason, I want that blessing to keep her as happy as it can. And even if that dress has no blessing, Alice wanted it so damn badly last night, she almost cried when I pulled her away, and kicked me bloody hard for doing it, too."

Another silence passes between them.

"Can I stop there, or do I have to keep going?" The Knave asks, looking at Rumplestiltskin with pleading eyes. Rumplestiltskin looks him up and down.

"Take the dress. I'll keep the envelope."

The boy needs no prompting. He immediately goes to take the dress off the mannequin and begins to leave the shop when he stops at the door, turns to give an awkward little jerk of the head, and walks out.

* * *

"I see the dress is gone."

"So it is, Belle. So it is."

"Can I ask you a question, Rumple?"

"You already have."

"Rumple."

"Oh, go on."

"Why'd you commission that dress, anyways?"

"For a very special purpose that will remain unknown to you."

"It was for Alice, wasn't it? There's no one else in Storybrooke that would want that dress."

"...If it was for Alice, I would've given it to her. I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of haggling with that insufferable boy."

"How much did you sell it for, anyways? You wouldn't sell something magical at a price that Will Scarlet could afford."

"Here."

"...Rumple, it's not like you to take the short end of a deal like this. Why'd you let him have it?"

"..."

"Well?"

"...He reminds me of Bae...what in the name of the Enchanted Forest are you giggling about, Belle."

"You're going soft, Rumple."

"Excuse me?!"

"You had the fairies make that dress for Alice. You're fond of her, I know, and it's no use hiding it. She's a sweet girl, that Alice. And you've got a soft spot for Will Scarlet, too. I saw you haggling with him. You were trying to make him man up a little, weren't you?"

"...of course not, Belle. I love you very much, but please don't be ridiculous."

"Whatever you say, dear. Whatever you say."

* * *

He'll never forget the way Alice's face lit up just for seeing him come in through the door, the way she runs up to him and throws her arms around his shoulders and exclaims how happy she is that she's back. He'll never forget the way her jaw dropped when he held out the dress for her, or her ear-shattering squeal of pure delight (though to be fair, that squeal is still ringing in his ears, so he doubts he could forget if he tried).

He'll never forget how she squeezed the life out of him and murmured thank-you a thousand times in his ear and crushed her lips against his. He'll never forget how her lips feel, softly sliding over his, the tip of her tongue hesitantly sliding into his mouth, the hitch in her breath as he presses his fingertips into her back, the flowery smell of her hair, the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek.

He'll never forget the way she looked in that dress, beaming so widely, twirling around and making the skirts twirl with her, practically glowing (she may really be glowing, he isn't too sure how fairy magic works), looking like a princess straight of a fairy tale.

He'll never forget how her face lit up even more (as if it were possible) when he told her so.

He'll never forget how that dress looked sliding off her creamy freckled shoulders and onto the floor later that night.

But mostly, he'll never forget how happy Alice was through the whole thing. He never wants to forget, never wants to remember another time when she's not this happy.


	4. When I cook dinner and I burn it black

Thanksgiving dinner was not going as planned. Alice had her heart set on surprising Will with a full-blown feast for two upon his return home, but so far, nothing had turned out properly. The cranberry sauce ended up sour her first try, and when she added more sugar and boiled it again, the sauce ended up scorching in the saucepan because she forgot to stir it, and top of it all, it refused to gel. She'd put too much milk into the creamed corn, boiled the potatoes too long, and burned the piecrust while somehow managing to simultaneously undercook the filling. The gravy was too salty, the yolks of the deviled eggs were more like sloppy blobs rather than the delicate swirls they were supposed to be. She'd made lemon bars, but forgot to put in a baking sheet over the pan, and had no way of taking them out without scooping the whole thing out into a mess of crust and lemony filling. At least it tastes all right, Alice tried to tell herself. At this rate, all they would have to eat for Thanksgiving was corn bread, the only thing that had turned out to be both passably appealing in both looks and taste. Well, that and maybe the turkey that was still in the oven, the turkey that had no stuffing, because Alice had fully recognized her inability to make a proper stuffing and then actually stuff the turkey halfway through the endeavor.

Alice dusts her hands off on her apron. Surveying the kitchen, she tries very hard not to collapse on the ground right then and there. The stove is crusted with the burnt remains of cranberry sauce and gravy, the counter is sticky with smears of lemon filling, the sink is piled high with potato and carrot peelings and dirty dishes and utensils, the bowl of the aborted attempt at making stuffing lay abandoned on the island and the entire kitchen is magically dusted with a fine layer of flour. Alice half-heartedly tries to adjust the scraggly strands that had escaped her bun, but gives up when she realizes that she was only succeeding in smearing flour and grease all over her hair.

When the timer rings, Alice edges towards the oven with great trepidation, armed with a pair of oven mitts and a dishrag. The oven isn't spewing smoke, which isalways a good sign. She gingerly pulls the oven door open, heart hammering as she frets over the state in which the turkey might be. She peers anxiously into the oven, relaxing slightly when the turkey appears to be in order, the skin a shining golden-brown like the ones she saw on the telly. The aroma is pleasing, warm and salty and savory, and with every second that passed without an obvious sign of disaster, Alice's hopes rise a little. Tightly gripping the edges of the pan, she carefully sets it on the counter and takes a moment to admire the products of her labor before sliding a knife out of the block and begins cutting into the turkey, gloating over the smooth slice of the knife through meat.

Until she hears the unmistakable rasp of steel meeting ice.

Alice stops in disbelief, then saws down furiously in vain, the inside of the turkey frozen solid. Desperately, she starts cutting elsewhere, trying to find a spot where the meat wasn't permafrost, and failing spectacularly. With an infuriated shriek, Alice flings the knife to the side and slides down to the floor, curling into a fetal position and sniffling quietly.

She has failed again, and this is another thing that she must make up to Will, another thing on the endless list of things. Will has saved her from Bethlem, helped her find Cyrus, gone back to the one place he never wanted to go back to, just for her, brought her to Storybrooke, gave her a home, introduced her to wonderful friends like Ruby and Belle, found her a job at the school where she could tell children stories and take them on adventures all day, taught her how to use the telly, the phone, the cell phone the computer, the stove, and a million other things, took her shopping with very little complaint, brought her forget-me-nots for no reason at all, carried her drunken arse home and didn't yell at her for ruining his beloved jacket, braved Mr. Gold's shop to get her that dress she wanted so much, even though she was drunk out of her mind at the time and probably wouldn't even have remembered that the dress existed at all the next day, and he loved her, even though she was nothing but bloody trouble for him. And she couldn't even make him a bloody Thanksgiving dinner. She truly was utterly useless and undeserving of Will. A voice in Alice's head (a voice that sounded suspiciously like Will's, to be honest) scolded her and demanded that she get herself together and pull herself up by her bloody bootstraps, but Alice chose to ignore that most irritatingly-correct voice and continue moping on the floor which, if she stayed long enough, would hopefully swallow her up. Yes, she would do that.

* * *

"Alice, I'm home!"

Silence.

Will gingerly sets the plastic grocery bags down by the door and steps warily through the living room, set on edge by the lack of response.

"Alice?"

His heart begins to pound uncomfortably in his chest, a twisting feel of dread crawling up from his stomach and wounding around his heart like...like the unfortunately-familiar feeling of wfingers wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

"Alice, this ain't bloody funny anymore," he calls out, fear creeping into his voice, and his nerves aren't helped at all when there is no Alice jumping out from a closet, gleefully crowing that she's scared him and wasn't that fun?

A quiet whimpering from the general area of the kitchen reaches his ears, and Will is nearly sent into a full-blown panic.

"_Alice!_"

He charges into the kitchen, fully prepared to take on any intruder, when his heart freezes and plummets. The kitchen is not unlike a war zone in terms of sheer chaos and disarray. Clearly, there was a massive struggle here, and Alice was most likely dying somewhere right now. Or. Already dead. Bloody hell, that was clearly congealed blood streaking the stove. But there was no sign of Alice anywhere, yet the muffled whimpers continued.

"Will...?"

His heart leaps at this sign of life.

"Alice!"

Will runs behind the island to find Alice curled in a fetal position on the floor, still sniffling. He crouches down, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Alice, love, what happened? Are you alright? Where are you hurt, tell me where you're hurt."

"I'm...I'm not hurt...I'm alright..."

Will tries to pull Alice up to a sitting position, but she seems so dead-set on being one with the hardwood floor that he settles for lying down behind her instead and throwing an arm around her.

"What's wrong, Alice? Who did this?"

"I just wanted to make a bloody Thanksgiving dinner," Alice wails quietly, turning to bury her face into Will's chest, hands clutching to the front of his shirt. "I wanted to surprise you with a turkey and pie and mashed potatoes and gravy like they had on the telly, but it just went...it just went all _wrong_..." She trails off miserably, opting instead to snuffle into Will's shirt and breathe in the smell of his aftershave.

Will softly strokes the back of Alice's head in what he hopes is a soothing fashion.

"Alice, love, you know you didn't have to."

"But I _wanted_ to...," Alice mumbles. "I wanted to thank you properly for everything, and making Thanksgiving dinner seemed so fitting, but _clearly_, I can't cook." Her voice becomes less despondent, more exasperated, and Will takes this as a good sign.

"I think that's fairly obvious, Alice."

Alice half-heartedly swats Will's shoulder and he grins and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"There's the Alice I know and love. Now. Why don't we get up off the floor and eat some bloody Thanksgiving dinner?"

Alice sniffles one last time and pushes herself up.

"But we've only got cornbread and...and maybe that sorry excuse for deviled eggs," she finishes lamely, pointing at the tray of eggs on the counter.

"And _that_, Alice, is where you're terribly wrong," Will declares, rising to his feet and pulling Alice up with him.

"What...how..."

"Wait here."

Will runs off to the front door and returns laden with bags and a huge covered tray.

"Will, is...is that...," Alice stammers disbelievingly, wide-eyed and pointing.

"The very last one," Will gloats. "Had to fight off three harpies for it, but here we are."

"But how did you..."

"Alice, love, I've got more to thank you for than you do to thank me for."

Alice beams and runs to Will, who sets the turkey down just in time to catch her in his arms.

"Oh, also I was sort of expecting you to try to make Thanksgiving dinner and make a bloody mess of it. You're bloody _awful_ at cooking."

"_Will!_"


End file.
